


Release

by captaindanger



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaindanger/pseuds/captaindanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke needs to relieve a little tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

**Author's Note:**

> This is the closest thing to porn I've ever written. If there's anything inaccurate or that doesn't make sense, a comment is welcomed. Also, this is the first fic I've written in a while, so be warned.

Clarke trudged back to her tent. She was covered in blood and dirt, as usual. It was under her nails and in the creases in the crooks of her elbows and in her nostrils. The haze of exhaustion covered her too; her eyeballs felt like sandpaper and she stumbled drunkenly across camp. People stared at her, probably because she wasn’t in the dropship tending to their every scrape or bruise. They could go to hell, she deserved a break.

She brushed aside the tarp that made the door for her tent and sat down heavily on her cot. She reached down to unlace her boots and immediately felt a headache coming on. Groaning loudly, she kicked her shoes across her tent, which wasn’t far, and flopped backwards.

She took deep breaths, slowing down her heartbeat, preparing herself to enter stage 1 of NREM sleep. Her muscles felt so tense she could swear she was vibrating. She wanted to dream, to escape from this strange purgatory she’d found herself in, doctoring a ragtag group of punks and deviants.

Her head pounded as she stared up at the red plastic of her makeshift room. All she wanted to do was sleep. Sleep, she told herself, sleeeeeeep. All the noises of the 100 seemed to increase. She pulled her jacket off and used it to cover head. Maybe if it was dark enough she could convince herself she was back on the Ark in her bed with her parents next door. Something outside crashed, and she ripped the jacket off her face in a huff. Just another potential injury to tend to.

She thought about going to Jasper for some moonshine to mellow her out, but decided against it because alcohol made her reckless and flirty, not sleepy. She made a mental note to look for wild chamomile or sage that she could make tea with to help relieve stress around camp; she couldn’t be the only one whose nerves needed soothing. 

Then it occurred to her: masturbation. It was a natural stress reliever and helped banish headaches. It was one of the first things she learned during sexual education classes up on the Ark – which were taught by her mother, awkwardly enough.  
But of course the walls around her were less than half an inch thick and nowhere close to soundproof. Not that she was overly vocal during any kind of sexual intercourse, but the idea that someone might hear her or walk in on her made her skin crawl from phantom humiliation. 

She debated the idea with herself. Relaxation, or risking public disgrace among at least 80 people? 

Fuck it. She really wanted to get rid of her headache.

She took the canteen of water she kept by her bed and poured it over her hands to wash away the dirt. It would also act as lubrication. She checked to make sure her tent “door” was closed, and then lay back on her cot and unbuttoned her pants. She was really doing this.

She slid her hand down the front of her pants and past the waistband of her underpants. Her fingers threaded through the coarse pubic hair. They reached the clitoral hood. (Another thing she learned in those sex ed classes was an explicit knowledge of the vaginal anatomy. Thanks, Mom.) She began to circle her fingers around it, trying to stimulate herself. It was a bit uncomfortable. Her fingertips were too rough against the dry skin – she obviously needed to get herself aroused or this was not going to work. 

She didn’t have a lot to work with down here on the ground. There was Finn, but thinking about their hook-up now that she knew about Raven just made her feel shame. There was Jasper and Monty, and she loved them both, but honestly they were too immature and loud for her. There were anonymous boys around camp that she’d never spoken to (except to ask about their various injuries), many of whom were attractive, but didn’t do much for her. And then there was Bellamy Blake. 

It felt alien thinking of him in a sexual way. Not that she didn’t think he was good-looking. Of course she did. Didn’t everyone? But it complicated things. Their tentative co-leadership didn’t need intimacy thrown into the mix. 

But he did have a very nice jaw, and expressive eyes, and nice muscle definition. Her fingers began circling her clitoris again, and stroked the labia minora. She had seen him without his shirt on – it was a decent view. She wouldn’t have minded being one of the girls who rotated out of his tent if they didn’t have such a complicated relationship. She started bucking her hips up into her hand.

She liked the way he stared at her sometimes. She felt his eyes follow her lips as she talked and her hands as they bandaged wounds or foraged for medicinal plants. It was like she was being pinned down and her breath would stutter and her face would get too hot. She circled her finger around her vaginal opening. Her fingers were moving more quickly and she started panting. 

She might have had a sex dream about him once. It had thrown off their dynamic for weeks. If he got too close to her, she would act like she needed to check on imaginary patients. She would stare at him for extended periods of time, recalling his dream-hands on her, until his real hands would shake her and ask her what her problem was. Just tired, she’d say, not that that was a stretch. 

It was a pretty phenomenal dream. It didn’t happen in a tent or on the Ark, but in a normal Earth bedroom she’d seen in pictures. They’d been lying together on top of the sheets and kissing hard enough to hurt and he had flipped her onto her back. He’d hiked her shirt up and kissed both breasts, still covered by her unclasped bra. He’d trailed kisses down her stomach. Then, he’d reached the button of her pants. He’d slowly unbuttoned it, making sure she watched. He’d yanked them off, along with her underwear, like he couldn’t wait any longer. He’d pushed her legs apart, his hands sliding down her thighs. As she run her hands through his hair, he’d lowered his head and-

Clarke gasped as she reached climax. Her head pressed hard into the thin cushion of the cot, her mouth open and her eyes closed. Her toes curled inside her socks. She let it take over her body. This was definitely worth the trouble.

She let out a few short breaths and let her muscles go limp. She could already feel the endorphins clearing away the pain in her head and easing her taut nerves. Her breathing was still fast but her whole body felt light. 

She was glad nobody walked in on her at that second, because she must have looked a sight, one hand down her pants and the other still clenched around her poor excuse for a blanket. She almost wanted to laugh. This was the best she’d felt since she’d slept with Finn. Even better: her hand didn’t have a secret girlfriend she didn’t know about. She wished she’d rubbed one in a little sooner.

Then she realized.

She had just orgasmed to the thought of Bellamy Blake.

Fuck. This was gonna be a problem.


End file.
